


Bond of Love

by AtoTheBean



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Exhibitionism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13436841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: When James is sent to a bondage club in Amsterdam for a mission, Q sees things via the collar camera he's never been exposed to. Now... how to tell James that his once virginal lover is intrigued by what he saw?





	1. The Gleipnir Mission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/gifts).



> The art prompt for this piece is [Roleplay](https://only1truthfanfiction.wordpress.com/2018/01/21/art-for-the-2017-2018-00q-rbb/) by @Only_1_Truth (of whom I am such a fangirl OMG!). What struck me about the piece is the look on Q's face — like he's experiencing something for the very first time, and it's GOOD. So this happened. I hope you (and Truth!) enjoy it. (She wanted to be surprised. **bites nails nervously**)
> 
> Much thanks to NixDucky and DazeVentura for beta reading. Oh, and I haven't tagged this as pwp, but the amount of plot present probably requires a magnifying glass to see...

“Q, are you sure this is all on the up and up?”

Q taps at the computer, monitoring the feed from Bond’s camera. “Quite. I went through their records myself. Permits all in order, security so good that I couldn’t risk using an alias and had to work directly with the owners to arrange your entrance under actual name and affiliation. There’s not even a closed network camera system to hack, which is why you’re wearing a collar camera. The security system at _Gleipnir_ might be more impossible to hack than MI6, if only because less of it is online. Everything happening there is completely legal and discrete: everyone shows records they’re clean, signs consent slips with any hard limits. Anyone you see there tied up or wearing a collar _wants_ to be in that condition. Our arms dealer, Mr. Price, is the only one up to anything illegal, and that has nothing to do with his current activities.”

Q glances at the video feed and sees that Bond has entered one of the many lounges — the “Submissive” lounge this one is called, according to the blueprints Q has secured. “At the other end of this room there should be a hall to your right that houses the private demonstration rooms. He’ll—”

A bit of space opens up in front of Bond, and Q can finally see the other people in the room. There are more than a dozen men standing on platforms. They are all slight-of-build, like Q himself. But where he considers himself scrawny and lanky and rather unattractive, these men look...sexy. Wearing mere straps of leather or chains of various weights, or sometimes jeweled collars and little else, they nonetheless exude a fragile confidence. They are _beautiful_ and seductive, something Q has never felt in his life. Q watches as one comes off the platform and kneels before a stockier, more muscular man — built more like Bond, to be honest — who runs a hand through his hair and strokes his face like he is precious, but with a distinctly _carnal_ reverence. They are—

“Q? You still with me?”

“I… yes.” Q checks the plans, embarrassed to find he not only lost track of what he was doing, but is getting _hard_. Bloody hell. “Uh, down this hall, fourth door on the left. He’s reserved a demonstration room, so there will likely be an audience. You’ll need to slip in quietly and scan the room so I can run facial recognition and see if any other gang members are present.”

“Understood.”

If James notices Q’s fluster, he shows no sign of it. Fortunately, Q is monitoring the mission alone from his office, away from any remaining prying eyes within the nearly deserted branch. It’s midnight in London and one in the morning in Amsterdam, and this isn’t an emergency or likely to be a dangerous assignment.

Bond finds the door and slips into the room. It’s relatively dim, except in the center where diffuse light from above illuminates a man in black jeans, standing on a raised platform with his back to the door. He’s dragging a crop along the spine of a second man, this one suspended upright by ropes and leather straps, hands secured above his head, thighs splayed wide, exposing a nude form, hard and arching, flinching and groaning as the _swish-whap_ of the crop adorns his thigh with yet another pink mark.

Q is momentarily mesmerized, but then remembers his purpose. His fingers fly on the keyboard, adjusting the camera for low light and initiating the facial recognition program to review the faces in the background… the audience members seated in plush chairs in a semicircle around the platform. Some appear to have their own subs kneeling beside them, heads in their laps. And though an idle hand may be petting these subs absently, attention is clearly focused on the spectacle in the center of the room, where the man Q can now positively ID as Price is circling the suspended man, running a hand over the bare chest, spread legs, round arse… teasing and caressing as the onlookers watch.

Q clears his throat. “Get a thorough scan,” he advises, humming approval as Bond moves the camera so it slowly takes in the entire crowd. “Not the Subs. They’re all locals and accounted for. It’s the Doms we have to check. Most are probably just locals or visiting businessmen, but it’s possible that a few are from the cartel.” Q watches the faces as the program works away at comparing the features to records of known criminals. He finds himself focused on their expressions, however, not their features. They are all aroused, all leaning back in their seats, legs splayed as they focus intently on the lithe figure swaying from the restraints. That sub has the attention of every person in the room, not as the subject of scorn for his small frame or delicate features, but rather _desire_. He isn’t being humiliated; he’s being adored.

Q’s interpretation is confirmed as Price runs a hand along the sub’s arse and thigh, massaging the pink marks and eliciting a gasp and shudder from the man. “Look at our guests,” Price orders in a deep, gravelly voice. “Look at how they _want_ you. Look how hard they are.” The sub groans in response, and though the light is dim, Q can tell that hands are moving to zips throughout the audience, opening flies, starting to slowly stroke themselves as the show unfolds. “Every last cock in this room is hard for you, my beauty. Including mine.” Price has dropped the crop now, and is standing immediately behind the sub, one hand steadying his hip as the other explores. “Do you think you’re ready for me?” And with that Q sees him reach between the man’s legs and tug on what he realizes must be some sex toy he’d inserted before the crop had come out. Q watches, fascinated, as Price slides the toy in and out the man’s arse, fondles his balls, and continues to whisper decadent filth in his ear. The audience now is nearly all wanking — except for those whose own subs are now kneeling between their legs — and Q imagines he can _smell_ the sex.

A light blinks on Q’s laptop, startling him out of his observations. “The room looks clean,” he tells Bond, in a voice that is not quite as crisp and steady as usual. “Facial recognition didn’t pick up any known conspirators.”

“Understood.” There’s a pause before Bond continues with, “Seems rude to interrupt now, though.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m going to wait,” Bond explains quietly. “He’ll come along much more quietly in a post-coital bliss than if I interrupt proceedings now. Not to mention, it’d be completely unfair to the man he’s had on edge for god knows how long. Have some sympathy, Q.”

“Have some… we aren’t here for a peepshow, Bond.”

“No.” Q can hear the smirk. “But it’s always good to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. And we’ll have a riot on our hands if I stop this before everyone gets off. Afterwards, the group will disband naturally, and I’ll just make sure Mr. Price leaves with me. Much less conspicuous or worrisome to the other guests.”

He does have a point. And the management at _Gleipnir_ had been adamant that they make this as quiet as possible. “I...oh, very well. Best get your taser ready, just in case. I’ll alert management of the plan.”

Q types a message to the head of _Gleipnir_ security, who is coordinating efforts and the reason Bond is carrying a taser instead of a gun. Then there’s nothing to do but wait. And watch. And _listen_ oh god… it’s amazing that Bond’s mic is picking up so many of the sounds emanating from that room. Bond moves so they had a better angle for viewing Price’s face, but the new position also affords a magnificent view of the restrained man’s expression of bliss, his hard cock, the way his head is thrown back as he begs for release. Price coos in his ear, praising him as he tosses the toy aside and lines up his own slicked-up cock.

“That’s it; you can take me. So good.” He slides in with hardly any resistance, and the look on the sub’s face is _exquisite_.

Q is trying to mitigate his response, but he’s breathing heavily enough he could be running. He pushes his mic away from his mouth, tempted to put himself on mute, despite being in the middle of a mission. Q is barely aware of Price anymore, he’s so focused on the sub. The man is begging for more, straining against his restraints, pleading for release. When Price invites someone up onto the platform to kneel in front of the man and tease his cock while Price slowly fucks him, Q’s breath catches, and he’s sure Bond has heard it. As the first groans of release come from the audience, Q has to reach out for his cup of tea and down it in one cold and bitter gulp to control his own... urges. Fortunately, Price has had enough playing at that point, and starts fucking in earnest. Q’s attention is on the suspended man: the way he writhes against his restraints, arches into Price’s touch, keens, until finally he comes with a wail and a spasm that has Price quickly following.

There’s a strange quiet in the room afterward, like a long breath being let out, and then Bond is on the move, up on the platform before Price has quite finished zipping up his pants.

“If you could come with me, Mr. Price.”

The man is clearly startled, though far too sated and distracted to be on alert. “I… I need to provide aftercare for this man,” he responds, almost as a question.

“I really must insist,” Bond states more firmly, and he must have made the presence of the taser clear to Price, because he’s suddenly wide-eyed and stiff. “Surely someone else can help unshackle this fine specimen…”

“I would be honored to care for him,” suggests a new man… someone from the audience.

Q reviews the facial recognition results. “He’s from the club,” he informs Bond. “He’ll know what to do.”

“Excellent suggestion,” purrs Bond. “See? He’ll be in good hands. And so will you,” he adds, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from the small table at the edge of the platform and using them to secure Price’s hands behind him. “Now, let’s slip out quietly and let these lovely men enjoy their post-coital stupors, shall we?”

It goes surprisingly smoothly from there. Bond escorts Price back through the Submissive Lounge — no one looks twice at a man in a suit leading a shirtless man in restraints — and to the business offices where an MI6 interrogator and members of the Dutch police are waiting to bring Price to a secure location for questioning. Q will eventually get the man’s phone, but as this is a joint mission, he won’t get first crack at it.

Q is anxious to get home, shutting down computers and preparing to leave when Bond’s voice comes across the comms. “Is this line still being monitored, Q?”

He stills. “Ah, no. I turned off the mission log recording when you delivered Price. Do you need something added?”

There’s a pause before Bond responds with, “No. I just wanted to see if you're all right.”

“I… of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just went a bit quiet on me. You weren’t… upset by anything we saw, were you?”

Q leans heavily against his desk, cock still throbbing. No, upset isn’t the word he would use in this situation. But when he and Bond first became lovers, Q had been a virgin. Bond’s vast sexual experience had been intimidating at first, but Bond seemed charmed by Q’s inexperience, and was delighted to gently school him in a variety of pleasures. Of course he would assume that Q is now shocked by what he saw.

“No. As I said, I did a great deal of research and determined that the club is quite careful. Everything was consensual.”

“Yes, but it can still be a bit… surprising to see that level of kink first hand. Or second hand.”

Q sighs. He has no idea how to broach this subject with his lover, but he’s sure that at nearly two in the morning over MI6 comms is neither the time nor place. “I’m fine, James. Just tired.”

“Of course. Well, I’ll let you get home then. You’re working tomorrow?”

“Hmmm, yes. Margot’s in Bolivia and I’m coming in to help her navigate the warehouse district of La Paz. But then I’m off the next two days. You’re still scheduled to be back tomorrow morning?”

“Afternoon. M wants me to check in on the interrogation in the morning before heading back. He had my flight shifted.”

Q pulls up the revised mission details on his computer. “I see it now. So you’ll be in closer to three. Too bad; there will be traffic.”

“It’ll be fine. Go get some rest. I’ll see you in the office, and maybe we can grab dinner after I debrief.”

“Sounds perfect. Goodnight James.”

“Goodnight, love.”


	2. The puzzle of Q

The drive home is short, thank god, and Q has peeled off his coat and unbuttoned his fly before he even reaches the bathroom. He’s exhausted, but his body is nearly vibrating with need. So he does what he did through his uni years: tries to address it with as little fuss and mess as possible. He stands over the toilet and closes his eyes, supporting himself against the wall with one hand and palming his erection with the other. It takes barely ten strokes before he’s coming across the porcelain.

He cleans up the mess and flushes it away, cleans his face and teeth, and prepares for bed... where he lies, staring at the ceiling. With a sigh he realizes he’s still too agitated to fall asleep, despite the quick orgasm that normally tides him over. He’s still _horny_. And his need runs deeper than quick release.

He knows better than to try to will himself to sleep. He’s curious, and he’s _pants_ at forcing himself to sleep when he has a puzzle on his hands… mind. Well, likely both. Especially when the puzzle is himself.

He lies in bed and closes his eyes, remembering the scene in the club. Not the whole scene. Really, just the sub. The restraints. The way he gave up control. Q wouldn’t have thought it could be arousing, but it had been for that man, and Q feels an affinity with him that goes beyond their similar build. Q’s entire professional life requires him to be in control. His uni years were an exercise in self preservation and control; he was too young and too small and too effeminate for his colleagues’ tastes, and he built barriers of relentless excellence and an armor of baggy cardigans as a means to cope.

But James had wheedled his way under them, acknowledging the excellence but looking beyond it. Q trusts him, _loves_ him. And finds himself very intrigued with the Idea of giving him control — _total_ control — in manner like that he witnessed. His cock twitches again at the thought. He reaches for the laptop he keeps near the bed. He hasn’t looked at porn since he started having regular sex with James… why the hell would he? But now his new search terms are bringing up sites he’s never been to, and though much of what he finds _is_ rather shocking — he quickly determines that humiliation and pain beyond the slap of a crop are _not_ kinks of his — he also finds a great deal that has him breathing heavily, palming a new erection, creating bookmarks of videos involving restraints and exhibitionism and in one case, an audience that was somewhat participatory, the Dom allowing them to wank _on_ the sub. He watches that one several times, mesmerized by the sub’s face. But just watching it doesn’t get him off. He closes his eyes and reaches one hand to the headboard, grasping it and imagining that his hand is tied there. He imagines James leaning over him, telling him to spread his legs, telling him the restraints are secure and they have all night to play. Telling him he’s lovely and sexy and being so _very_ good. Q fondles his bollocks, idly wishing they were shaved like the men in the videos, teases his hole, imagining a different set of hands, and then starts to stroke his erection. Another video has started playing on his laptop, and though the voice is wrong, Q can almost imagine it’s James saying, “Let them see. Go on, pet, show them everything.”

He comes hard, panting and arching and milking himself without a care about where the mess is settling. _Now_ he’s bone tired, and barely has the presence of mind to close the laptop and pull some covers over himself before curling up and falling asleep.

He wakes at ten the next morning, refreshed but for the release dried on his stomach. Unfortunately, he can’t luxuriate in bed; he's needed in the office in just over an hour. His mind is already on the day before him as he shampoos his hair: mission details and maps and safety precautions. But when he’s shaving his face in the steam-resistant mirror attached to the shower wall, he remembers the videos from the night before, and in a pique of experimentation, shaves his bollocks as well. It’s… well it’s a bit weird, but not as awkward as he’d feared, and he finds them pleasantly sensitive as he gets himself dressed, donning his charcoal slacks and a navy shirt before packing up and running for the tube station.

His day is packed. Nothing life-threatening, but a string of minor mission crises, weapons tests, and R&D setbacks that keep him busy through lunch, and then as he sees Bond drop by at three to return his gear, and then again at four when James tries to extract Q from a pile of paperwork Eve had brought down a half hour earlier.

Q rubs his eyes under his glasses. He’s so ready to go home, and James looks travel-weary as well, but he he can’t yet. “If I bow out before I’ve finished this lot, she’ll have my hide,” he complains.

James eases a hand under the curls at the nape of his neck and rubs gently. “I’ll go take care of some things and come back for you closer to seven,” he murmurs. “Will that give you enough time, do you think?”

Q hums in consideration. “It should. And then the Branch should be able to do without me for a few days. Do you mind eating in? I’m not sure I’ll be in the mood for an evening out amongst crowds.”

“I don’t at all mind having you to myself. I’ll stock up at Tesco while I’m out. And here,” he places a box on Q’s desk. “There was a specialty food store in the airport and I picked you up some native crackers and cheese. So perhaps you won’t waste away before I can get you home and feed you up.”

Q beams at him, grateful that Bond is so thoughtful and aware of his own negligence of trifling self-care concepts… like lunch. “You’re a lifesaver. I’ll be ready by seven, I promise.”

Bond isn’t there by seven, though. He pops back in closer to half past with the excuse of traffic and an extra errand he found necessary. It’s no trouble — Q can always find things to work on — it’s just noticeably unlike James to be late. Still, Q thinks nothing of it as slips into the luxurious leather of the Aston Martin, content to lean back and relax as James deftly steers one-handed, the other a comfortable weight on Q’s knee. It’s several minutes before he realizes they aren’t headed to his flat.

“We going to yours then?” he asks.

“Hmmm. I stopped by yours and made sure the cats were set for food and water. You have clothes and toiletries enough in my flat for a few days. And I have… well, a bit of a surprise.”

“Intriguing,” Q quips, but can’t help thinking that James looks a little off… nervous, perhaps. He places his own hand on the one James has resting on his knee and gives it a squeeze. “A few days at yours sounds perfect. My flat’s been too quiet with you away.”

James smiles and seems to relax the rest of the drive home. It’s only as he parks and leads Q to his door that tension enters his frame again. Q is about to inquire what has James on edge when he’s ushered into the flat and sees what’s there.

The furniture in the sitting room has been rearranged so that a single chair sits in the middle of the room under the overhead lamp. The narrow sofa table, normally flush with the back of the couch, is a bit to the side of the chair, and everything else is placed up against the walls. But as unusual as all that is, it’s not what causes a flip in Q’s stomach as he surveys the scene.

No, it’s the handcuffs draped over the back of the chair that cause that.


	3. Roleplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally come to the part of the story where @Only_1_Truth's art prompt plays a role, and so I've embedded it in the text and named the chapter for her art.
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments so far!

“What’s this?” he asks as James lifts the computer bag from his shoulder and helps him out of his coat.

“Hmmm. A gamble. Though not a bad one, I think. I could tell something was off in your voice during the last mission, but I guessed wrong. When I stopped by your flat to check the cats, I found your laptop on your unmade bed, and that’s not like you. And, well, you _are_ dating a spy…”

Q closes his eyes, mortified. James found the videos. “James, I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize, love. I’m sorry for invading your privacy… I honestly didn’t expect to find anything but whatever tech journal you had fallen asleep reading. But when I realized what you’d been doing, I understood.” Q feels James solid form close behind him, hands coming to rest on Q’s hips, thumbs stroking his shirt where it’s tucked into his trousers. “You liked it,” he whispers against Q’s ear, making him shiver.

“I liked it,” Q acknowledges in an equally hushed tone. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“Why would you hesitate?”

“You’ve always…” he considers turning to face James, but somehow can’t pull his eyes away from the chair and the handcuffs, looking for all the world like a demonstration area from the club. “You seemed to like the fact that I was so innocent and awkward when we first started dating. I wasn’t sure what you would think of me wanting something so… so sexy and debauched.”

James kisses his neck. “You’re always sexy to me. And yes, I’ve enjoyed helping you discover what you like, but I don’t find this to be outside that vein. It’s just this time, we’re discovering together.”

That gives Q pause. Turning slightly towards James’ face he asks, “You’ve not done this before?”

“Hmmm. Never.”

“But it’s… appealing?”

“Absolutely,” James assures, breath brushing against Q’s cheek. “I even did a bit of research after seeing your videos. And some shopping. Hence the extra errand.”

A shiver of excitement shoots up Q’s spine. “Did you…” Q clears his throat. “Did you buy me one of those costumes?” Because truly, he’s curious how he’d feel in those combinations of leather straps and light chains. Would he feel as sexy as those other men looked?

“No. I think that would require input from you, and I was short on time. But if you like this,” James continues, starting to slip Q’s jacket from his shoulders, “we will definitely go shopping together. You would look _amazing_ in any of those submissive costumes. But it occured to me that if I were to bring you into that club just like this,” he says, removing Q’s glasses and placing them on the entry table, stretching a soft piece of silk cloth across his eyes instead. “If I brought you into that lounge in your work clothes, blindfolded,” Bond knots the cloth behind Q’s head, “and let it be known that I was taking you into one of those private demonstration rooms, stripping you, tying you up for your _first_ time, and fucking you senseless, we’d have a full audience following us in, fancy dress or not. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he asks, pulling Q’s wrists behind his back. “The restraints are appealing, but it’s the _audience_ that had your breath hitching as you watched, wasn’t it?”

Q’s breath catches now, as if to prove the point. James nudges him gently toward the chair, and sounds emanate in the room: lounge music and clinking glasses and indistinct voices, as if they really are in some club. It’s startling and thrilling, even if Q recognizes that the sounds are coming from speakers.

“So, would you say you’re a bit of an exhibitionist?” James presses.

No, that doesn’t seem right. “It’s more that I like the idea of you showing me off. I wouldn’t want to do a striptease in front of an audience — that’s not alluring at all. But _you_ undressing me, showing those men that you want me and that I’ll let you… that I’ll be good for you and allow you to control me and tease me because I want _you_ , too.” Bond’s breath hitches at that. “It’s more complicated that just wanting to be nude in front of strangers. It’s wanting to be vulnerable to _you_ and have them… have them—”

“—Like it. You like the idea of them wanting you, too,” Bond whispers, continuing to press Q into the room, herd him toward the chair. Q nods, because yes, that is a big part of it. He’s always surprised when people find him attractive; having a whole room of gorgeous men hard because he’s being teased and they want in on it is an intoxicating fantasy. Bond turns Q by the shoulders and pushes down gently until Q sinks into the plush seat, still holding his hands behind him.

“Is that what we’re doing, then? Is this… what? Roleplay? That we’re in the club? That we have an audience?”

Bond secures Q’s wrists behind his back, and o _h god_ , that suddenly feels very real. He can almost sense the touch Bond’s gaze as he moves to stand in front of the chair, inspecting Q’s shackled form.

“Hmmm. The club would make you remove your shoulder holster and gun, but I find them stunningly hot, so they’re staying for now. As for roleplay… I suppose you could call it that. Though I did make… an arrangement… with someone. I wasn’t sure if pretending could really generate the thrill of being watched.”

Q stills at the thought. Are they already here? No, James would get his consent. But he’s sure James is noticing his response. It’s terrifying, but thrilling. James voice is like honey as he continues, “I don’t have a crowd, but one person, whom I trust, who is sexually adventurous, and I know will find this appealing.” Q is wracking his brains trying to sort out _who_. He must know this person. “Someone who has proven his discretion,” James whispers. “He never once told anyone at work about your… incident. I would have never known if you hadn’t told me yourself.”

 _Oh_. _Alec_. The _incident_ being the time both he and Alec were sure Bond was dead they were each so grief stricken that in the wee, sleep deprived hours after mission they found comfort in each other. When Bond returned — because of course he did, Q would _never_ make that mistake again — Q confessed everything, expecting hurt and shame and months of earning James’ trust again. But none of that had happened. _You’re forced to hear me bed other people constantly. If my lover and my best friend find solace in each other after my death, I find it comforting, actually, to know you’ll each have someone to help. Just don’t repeat it until I’m dead again._

“Are you… are you sure you’d want that?” Q stammers, gasping again as he feels James press he knees apart and kneel between them. James’ hands trail up Q’s thighs and to the buttons of his work shirt, opening it from the bottom.

“I think it would be hot,” James admits, undoing another button. “I want to see what it does to you. And I wouldn’t mind showing him how _mine_ you are… what you’ll let me do…” James fingers are now raking along his abdominals, pulling his shirt from his trousers, tracing the thin line of hair that disappears beneath his belt. “How good you are for me,” James whispers against his skin, and _bloody fucking hell_ this is pushing buttons Q didn’t even know he has. “But if you’d rather, I can tell him we don’t need him. The sounds of the club might be enough to put you in that frame of mind.”

“No… I… I would like that. All of that,” Q rasps as James removes his tie and unfastens the top few buttons of his shirt, until it is held closed at a single point, stretched tight across his chest.

 

 

“Marvelous,” Bond answers, pressing a kiss into the skin he exposed below Q’s throat. “Hmmm. You look delectable. I think I’ll call him in now so he can see you just like this. Just on the verge of going from dangerous workaholic to wanton sex fiend.” James presses Q’s knees apart. “Keep your legs just like this. I want it to be clear how hard you are.”

James stands, and Q holds his breath, straining to hear where he goes. He can hear nothing over the canned sounds of the lounge coming from the speakers. He starts when James’ voice breaks the pause, much closer than he expects. “What color are we?” he asks, mimicking the videos Q watched last night.

“Green. Very green. Verdant.”

James chuckles and brushes a thumb against Q’s cheek. “Good. You tell me immediately if I’m dipping us into orange. I don’t want anywhere near red, understood? This is an experiment, and there’s no shame in calling it off if it becomes too much. Our guest won’t mind and I _need_ to know you want this the entire time we’re doing it. If you have so much as a _qualm_ I want to have opportunity to adjust or stop, alright?”

Q nods, and then remembers the etiquette from the videos he watched and uses his voice. “Yes. The moment I feel anything other than insanely turned on, I’ll let you know.” And to seal the promise, he opens his mouth as James’ thumb brushes near his lips and swipes at it with his tongue.

“Bloody hell, I hope this works,” comes the retreating response.


	4. Every Play Needs an Audience..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this is a rather kinky story. I'm not to tag every single kink/act... no one should find any of it surprising at this point, but I don't to spoil all the fun for readers. Consider yourself warned...the real kink is starting now.

The absence of James between his legs is almost palpable, and makes Q feel decidedly exposed and… and risqué. Not as overtly exhibitionist as the men on platforms in the Submissive lounge, but still, on display.  Sexually.  And James said he looks good… Q spreads his legs a little more, relishing the unfamiliar feeling of _wanting_ someone to see him in a state of undress, hard and waiting.

The waiting, actually, is delicious, but short-lived as the sounds of _actual_ people approaching join the recorded sounds. Q feels a blush creep down his neck, but doesn’t falter in his position: shoulders back, shirt stretched tight across his chest, gun hanging heavily from his shoulder, legs splayed and bulge, he is sure, quite obvious.

“Bloody hell,” comes a voice that is _not_ James’. “That is lovely.”

James hums approval. “Let me pour us a scotch, or maybe a brandy,” James considers. “This feels decadent, after all.”

“Brandy,” Alec agrees. “And a chair with a view. This is turning into a lovely evening. Ta.”

Q hears the gurgle of thick liquid being poured into glasses and feels the eyes on him, startling only a bit as James’s fingers, chilled from the crystal, are tracing his skin from his ear to his shoulder, pushing his collar open. “I really don’t want to take the holster off, but it will become uncomfortable eventually. Still, maybe I’ll start with his feet.”

James is in front of him again, kneeling to remove shoes and socks, running his hands along the inside of Q’s legs, praising him with an easy _So good_ or _That’s just lovely_ as he works his way to Q’s bulge, finally dragging a thumb along his confined erection as Q groans and spreads his legs wider, shamelessly. Through it all, Q is aware of Alec’s presence, aware of the sounds of the glass being set on the table and his shifting on the plush leather chair. Then James breathes hot and moist against the bulge in Q’s trousers, and Q’s hips surge forward without his permission.

“Now, now. None of that. Until I can get you strapped down properly, you’re going to have to exhibit some restraint.”

“Yes, sir,” Q whispers, trying out the phrase he’d heard on the video. It doesn’t do much for him to say it, but judging from the throaty groan it elicits from Bond, _he_ quite likes it, and _that_ shoots a thrill up Q’s spine...

“Minx,” James mutters ruefully, and Q imagines they both might be having issues with control at the moment. “What color are we?” he asks, hot breath against Q’s bulge and fingers at the buttons of his trousers.

This is it. He can say orange now and Alec will be excused and he and James will chat and recover… but then he’d never _know_. And he’s not one to be satisfied with ignorance.

“ _Vert_ ,” he answers in French, because he’s still capable of thinking in multiple languages and he wants James to know.

The button is loosened and James seems to understand the challenge. “Enjoy the ability to articulate. It will be my pleasure to take it away from you. Now, hips up,” he commands, opening Q’s fly and tugging his trousers and pants down in one go. It’s not as awkward as Q might have expected, and then his knees are being pushed apart again and cool air brushes some of his most private areas and he feels _deliciously_ exposed. His cock twitches heavily between his legs.

“Hmmm. If those club denizens could see you now… all taut muscle and narrow waist here,” he says, tickling Q’s abdominals, “long, lovely cock here,” he adds, brushing its length with both thumbs. “And such a plush arse. Slide down so it’s right at the edge of the seat… that’s it. Now spread your legs and let us see _everything_.” Q shudders as he complies, practically reclining now, he’s slouching so. Bond nudges his cock up so it rests low on his stomach, spreads his legs wide, and gasps. “Oh, love. What have you _done_?”

Q freezes. He’s only minded Bond’s instructions. How could he have made an error so soon?

“What’s this?” James asks again, this time fingers teasing Q’s smooth bollocks.

“Oh. Um… experiment,” he stammers.

“Indeed? I’ll be happy to assist with those experiments. Now, let me just fasten these,” he says, and Q feels a thick leather strap encircle his right thigh. “I need to be able to tie you down just how I want you and keep you there.” And _bloody_ _fuck_ that does something delightful to his cock. James seems… genuinely enthusiastic about the prospect. Not merely like he’s humoring some curiosity of Q’s.

As another strap tightens around his left thigh, Q tries to imagine what James (and _Alec!_ ) sees: pale skin interrupted by dark leather — Is it black or brown, he wonders — signifying power. The ability to restrain him for as long as James wishes. And also signifying trust, because Q is certain that being helpless and in James’ control in a sexual encounter can only mean good things.

As if to prove the point, James slowly forces Q’s legs further apart, tugging, presumably, on something attached to a ring, considering the faint clink of metal.

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll be able to hold you spread properly with these. What color are we?”

“ _Zelenyy_ ,” Q breaths, switching to Russian.

A huff of laughter sounds from the corner of the room.

“Hmmm,” James considers. “Cheeky. We’ll see how long that lasts.” He is up and circling Q again, working open the straps of his shoulder harness. “As much as I love how this looks, I fear it’s going to be in the way very soon.” The weight of the gun is lifted, and then the harness itself — bit awkwardly, since Q is still slouched down with arse exposed at the edge of the chair. Then the last button of his shirt is undone, fingers toying roughly with his nipples, making him arch and gasp. “I have leather for your wrists, too, so you can pull on your restraints properly. We don’t want any damage to your hands from these metal handcuffs.” There’s a click, and his hands are free. “Stand up,” James commands, helping Q up with a hand at his elbow. “Face this way,” he adds, turning Q slightly to the left, presumably toward their guest. Despite the lack of restraints, Q holds his hands slightly behind his back. The shirt slips off behind him, and then James is fastening a leather band to each of his wrists, though as yet they aren’t bound together.

“Now, as lovely as you looked on that chair, it’s impractical for what I have in mind.” Q hears the chair drag across the floor and out of the way. “I want you up here,” he says pulling Q forward until his fingers brush against a waist-high table. It’s a bit awkward, but James helps him up, lying him on his back with his arse all the way to the short edge of the narrow table. His hands are secured beneath the table, cuffs linked together and roped to a hook installed discreetly in the underside of the wood. He shivers as his legs are pulled up and splayed wide. James secures the thigh cuffs to more hooks, this time installed under his back so his knees are forced up and out, bending him nearly in half.

He’s completely exposed for all to see, and will stay that way until James sees fit to release him.

And he’s _never_ been so hard in his life. And that’s before Bond hums appreciatively and proceeds to take the entirety of his smooth, shaved bollocks into his mouth.

Bloody. Buggering. _Hell._ That feels glorious. Startling, but _glorious_. Q would have jack-knifed off the table if he hadn’t been securely fastened to it, and _that_ is arousing as well, feeling his bindings tighten against him as he squirms against his restraints. _God_ , how is it he had no idea he’d want this earlier in his life. Any glimmers of embarrassment quickly dissolve as he relaxes into the utterly _sublime_ sensations.

Then the tongue moves lower, laving his perineum, teasing his hole, and Q nearly jack-knifes off the table again.

“Fuck. _Fuck,”_ he moans. And it all stops.

There’s a pregnant pause before James asks, “Was that a good ‘fuck’ or a bad ‘fuck’?” in a commanding yet somewhat breathless voice.

“Good fuck. Very good fuck. Well, not yet, obviously. But yes. Green. Absolutely green.” The words rush from him as his mind screams for the tongue to return. He shouldn’t want it — has been uncomfortable when James has tried it in the past — but _god_ , he really does.

“Back to speaking English again, are we?” James replies with an amused huff. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”

And the tongue is back and _fuck_ it’s glorious. Mind altering. Something about being tied down and sure that James is doing this because he truly _wants_ to give Q the freedom to enjoy it properly. He loses his sense of time, sinking into the pleasure, his mind focused on James’ mouth, even as his perceptions stretch. The sounds of the club, once so clearly a recording, sound real to him now, indistinct voices seeming to react to his current predicament, chairs scraping and ice clinking in glasses as they move to watch more closely. Q shudders at the thought, feeling the restraints hold him firmly in place and James tongue pushes in just a fraction, and _oh_ _fuck_ that’s lovely. Just lovely. Q registers a throaty moan and realizes it’s coming from him.

His whole body is rocking now — _trying_ to rock into that glorious mouth, trying to get friction on his cock — straining against the restraint rhythmically and reveling in the way they hold him still and open for James to play with. Part of him wants to command James to touch him, but he isn’t the one giving orders tonight. That’s rather the point. James will touch him when he’s ready, and Q wonders idly how long James will keep him on edge. He’s always been a generous, considerate lover, but he’s clearly in a teasing, playful mood. The anticipation is tantalizing.

James’ mouth is on his bollocks again, and a slick finger probes his ass and finds no resistance.

“Oh, you _did_ like that,” he breathes, adding another finger much sooner than Q can normally handle it. “Look at you, so ready to take me.”

Q moans at the subtle stretch, James fingers pushing in and out, each time a bit deeper. Then the fingers curve, and a string of obscenities fall from his lips as he arches against the restraints.

“That’s it. Damn, that’s lovely,” James praises, as an echoing hum of approval sounds closer to Q’s shoulder. Alec’s moved for a closer look which is — _fuck_. He tries to envision how he must look, and finds himself visualizing his splayed, nude form in the darkened club, Alec just the closest of the men crowded around the table. He wonders if any of them are rubbing at their own cocks. He hopes so.

“Ready for another experiment?” James’ voice cuts across his thoughts,

“Anything,” Q gasps quickly.

James stills, and Q freezes too, head up, straining to hear James’ ragged breathing. “That’s a very dangerous thing to tell me, love,” he warns.

Q bites his lip and rests his head back on the table. It feels like exposing his throat to a predator. Offering himself up as a sacrifice to the gods of pleasure. Or just the one god.

“Anything,” he repeats, voice steady.

“ _Bloody fucking hell_ ,” James mutters. “Stay here.”


	5. Breaking the Fourth Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The climax of this little roleplay... one chapter after this.

The fingers are gone, and Q barely has time to consider the concept of rhetorical commands — because he’s certainly not going _anywhere_ — when his arse is probed again, this time not by warm fingers but rather cool, unyielding silicon. He groans and wills himself to relax.

“I heard you gasp when the toy was being used at the club. And your videos…”

Yes. Toys had featured prominently in many of those. As had crops.

“Green.” he says, just so there’s no confusion that this is _clearly_ covered in the “anything” Q had agreed to a moment ago. It’s harder to accept than James’ fingers. His body wants to reject it as foreign, even as his mind embraces letting James do any experiment he can think of. Within a minute, though, he’s relaxing into this as well, feeling the now-warm toy push further and further into his body, it’s wide base spreading him more and more with each probe. He can practically feel the eyes in the room following its progress. Each stretch seems to make _all_ his skin tighter: nipples taut, cock thick and heavy add dripping a pool of precome onto his tense, incurvate belly. When Q is certain he can’t be spread more, that the toy will _never_ fit completely, James’ mouth surrounds his bollocks and with a shout and an arch he feels the toy slide home and his arse close around its neck, holding it tight inside him.

He’s breathing hard, tense as he adjusts to the foreign object inside him. James gives him time, whispering words of praise, his hand a solid weight on Q’s belly, grounding him emotionally in a way the restraints can’t.

He’s never felt so full, or so hard. Or so adored as James words continue to praise while his fingers trail through the precome on his belly, teasingly close to his cock.

“You’re doing so well. _God_ , just look at you. You could do this for hours.”

Q whimpers at the thought.

“Shhh. Now, let’s see how you like it. Ready?”

Q can’t understand what’s being asked of him, when there’s a bit of a tug on the toy and it starts vibrating slowly against his prostate.

“Fuck! Oh god!” he cries as he adjusts to the stimulation. James licks against his bollocks and then laughs in delight.

“You know, everything I’ve read tells me I shouldn’t let you swear like that — some say I should punish you just for _talking_ out of turn — but I find I rather like making your posh voice devolve into that of a coarse sailor. Still. Maybe I should punish you. I’d say the crop, but I think you’d like it too much.”

He would. He wants it now. He’s still swearing under his breath, completely incapable of stopping.

“Maybe that posh mouth of yours needs a bit of a scrubbing,” he offers suggestively while turning the vibration up on the toy, and it’s a terrible line, but it makes Q’s mouth water as he whimpers. And if James refuses to touch Q’s cock, maybe this will tide him over.

“Please,” Q gasps.

“What?” And Q understands his confusion. Q loves receiving blowjobs, and is eager to please James and reciprocate, but he often finds James large in his mouth, uncomfortable. Now, though, it sounds like exactly what he wants.

“Please,” he repeats. “Let me suck you.”

There’s a gasp, and a stillness. And then, “Are you sure?”

“Fuck my mouth,” he begs, confident that he can take it, _wants_ it. Wants to be watched doing it.

“ _Christ_. You don’t have to ask me again.” The voice has moved to his shoulder, and Q turns his head toward the sound of the zipper, licking his lips in anticipation.

James starts gingerly, just pressing the head of his cock between Q’s lips and cursing as they close around it and suck gently. It’s a little awkward — Q’s shoulder is in the way, and he strains against his arm restraints to lean closer to James, taking him further and further until he feels him touch the back of his throat. But where he’d normally back off at this point, the relentless buzz in his arse just drives him to take more, pull against the cuffs more, savor James’ familiar taste and throaty groans.

“Easy, pet,” James soothes, and the new name makes Q shudder, imagining again the club audience, eyes on him as James praises and leads him, threading one hand in his hair, using the other to support his opposite shoulder, holding him in place. James’ cock isn’t quite as deep as Q wants, but this is more comfortable, a position he can actually hold. “As much as I’m intrigued at the thought of coming down your throat or all over your blindfold, I rather had my heart set of fucking you once you’ve had enough of that toy, all loose and tied down and _mine_.” It’s almost a growl, and Q quakes and moans around James’ cock. “This wanton creature it’s turned you into is an utter delight,” James adds, sliding his cock nearly out of Q’s mouth and then back in, just shy of hitting the back of his throat. It’s _perfect_ , exactly what he wants, and he groans again as James sets a slow but relentless rhythm.

“Go ahead,” James says, and Q is confused until he hears the zipper behind him. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to know every cock is hard for him,” and Q groans again, because it’s _true_. The idea of Alec stroking himself as he watches makes Q squirm, abruptly taking James deeper as the toy shifts and buzzes against his prostate. James curses, stilling abruptly.

Q stills as well, taking his cues from James, but Alec’s hand doesn’t, and Q trembles as he hears more clearly how their display is affecting him.

James’ cock is gone, and Q lays back on the table again, breathing heavily, waiting for whatever comes next. He still needs more. He doesn’t want to come yet, doesn’t want to lose this decadent feeling, but needs _more._ It takes him a second to notice the scrape of stiff leather across his chest. It drags through the wet pool on his belly and smears the moisture down to his bollocks. It taps at the toy — making Q jump — and then drags to the swell of his arse and waits.

Q swallows thickly. This is _all new_ — James would never strike him in any other context — and he honestly doesn’t know if he’ll like it. And yet he needs _more_. “Green,” he answers the silent question, and the crop snaps against his skin. There’s a sting and a rush of heat, and _everything_ is abruptly more intense. The toy might have been turned up again, but if not, his tensing muscles as he responds to the stings of the crop intensify the sensation. He feels he could almost come from just this — just the relentless buzzing of the toy and these surprising shocks to his system as the crop snaps against his arse, inner thighs (feeling thrillingly, dangerously close to his cock), nipples. It’s not even registering as pain. It’s just stimulation, edging him toward oblivion, making him arch and pull at the restraints and turn his head from side to side, searching, words dripping from his lips. “Please,” he realizes is the word.

He’s begging. He’s not even sure for what.

The crop clatters to the floor and the toy is tugged harshly as Q sucks in a breath. He’s painfully empty for half a second before James thrusts in all the way in a single go and stills buried deep in Q’s arse. Q breathes and adjusts again, focused on the differences between having the toy and having _James_ : longer, more uniform in girth, _warm_. James pulls back slowly, shifting his position so the tip of his cock drags deliciously against Q’s prostate as he pushes back in.

Fuck, it’s good. It’s _so_ good. But he’s been stimulated so much for so long, he knows it’s not going to be enough. He whimpers, trying to rock against the air to get friction on his cock, but James still has him completely secure. For the first time since they’ve started, he feels rather desperate with his inability to move.

James thrusts are becoming more insistent, and any other time, this would be enough to send Q over, even untouched, but Q feels the word “please” forming on his lips again.

"If you still want a cock in your mouth, pet,” James words cut across his chaotic thoughts, “there's another to your left. We never discussed our guest touching you, but judging from the videos I found, you have at least a theoretical interest. I won't command you to do it, but just know that I'm not _at all_ averse to watching your lips wrap around another cock while I fuck you."

Q whimpers and shudders, but doesn’t pause at all before turning to his left and opening his mouth. A new voice curses, but then a cock is pushing at his lips and _yes_ this is what he wants, straining to take it deep as James swears and thrusts harder. Q swirls his tongue around the head, savoring the sharp, bitter flavor as the cock starts to move in his mouth, the thrusts growing steadily more intent as Q shows only more enthusiasm.

For long minutes there are no words, just the sounds of insistent flesh and harsh grunts and the club’s music and indistinct voices. He feels powerful, for being tied to a table. Desirable. Sexy. A minx, James had called him and he wants to own it, bask in having two of MI6’ finest coming apart over him, their thickening cocks pressing into him, their curses coloring the air above him. He groans, and the cock in his mouth stills.

“ _B`lyad'!_ Where can I come?”

“His chest,” James grunts immediately. “Paint his chest. He’ll be adding to it in a moment.”

There’s the sound of insistent movement and a long groan and then warm ropes brand Q’s chest as he pants and arches. Bloody _hell_ that was… that was...

“Fucking gorgeous,” Bond praises. “Bloody _gorgeous_ boy. Come on now, your turn.” And he finally, _finally_ touches Q’s cock, barely getting a fist around it when Q keens and comes and comes and comes. He’s riding out the bliss as James roughly grabs his hips and _pounds_ into him repeatedly. God, James is being relentless. The table quakes and scrapes against the floor, and Q rides the tempest as helplessly as a raft on a churning sea, marveling at feeling safe in the face of such ferocity. Abruptly, James stills and his cock throbs and pulses deep in Q’s arse. The tempest crests and quiets.

Q remains panting and clinging to his raft in the abrupt calm.


	6. When the Curtain Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, this has been a fun ride! Thanks to everyone who's read and spurred me on with their comments, and especially to @Only_1_Truth, whose art is amazing and whose response I couldn't be more thrilled with.

It’s quiet now. Q’s own breathing and the floaty, almost dissociated feeling dominate his senses until James slowly pulls out, and Q whimpers against the emptiness.

“Shhh,” James soothes, coming round to comb a hand through his curls and kiss him. “Oh, Christ, I can taste us on you. So _bloody_ sexy,” he praises. “I’ll be right back with a flannel to wipe you up.”

He’s still too floaty to feel uncomfortable being left on the table the few moments it takes for James to return. Soon he’s being cleaned and untied and he finds himself wrapped in a blanket and cradled on James lap on a sofa, still blindfolded. He’s vaguely aware of the quiet rumbling in James’ chest as he speaks, an even quieter voice responding across the room. Then the lounge music and club noises are replaced with Chopin and there’s a quiet snick of the door closing.

James chest isn’t heaving anymore, but it’s warm and Q snuggles into it, the first movement he’s initiated in… well, he’s not sure.

“There you are,” James murmurs, pressing a kiss into Q’s curls. “Welcome back.”

Q whinges his inability to speak yet, and shifts to bury his face into James’ neck, earning a low chuckle and tightening arms.

It’s nice. _Cozy_. Safe.

After a few more moments, though, cozy becomes confining, and Q is squirming out of the blanket as James loosens his arms, allowing Q the freedom to get comfortable. Once his limbs have a taste of freedom, though, they seem to have their own ideas. He’s shifting around like a disgruntled cat until he’s straddling James’ lap, his fingers tracing the broad, warm shoulders up to his neck. James patiently lets Q navigate by touch. It’s good, Q thinks, that he still can’t see. Like his brain is rebooting and he can really only handle one bit of sensory input at a time. Sound. Now touch. And smell, as Q notes James’ cologne mingling with the smell of cooling sweat and sex.

He breathes deeply, dragging is fingers across the rise of James’ pectoral muscles.

“I like this,” he whispers, not wanting to disturb the peace and the poignant melody of Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu op. 66 and the warm weight of James’ hands on his waist. “Touching you,” he clarifies.

James’ touch falters. “Did you not like—”

“I liked _not_ being allowed to touch you, too. Very much. I believe you may have noticed.” Q raises an eyebrow and smiles at James’ huff of laughter and relaxed grasp around his waist. “But I didn’t realize that in the aftermath I would need to touch you all the more. Make up for lost time, I suppose,” he adds, tilting his head as his hands wander along James’ strong chest, tallying well known scars and appreciating the heavy weight of relaxed, sated muscles.

“I’m yours to touch,” James murmurs almost reverently as Q’s fingers trail lower.

“And I’m yours to touch,” Q answers. “Or hold down, or tie up…”

“Oh, no,” James stops him, placing a hand on either side of his face. “If we’re going to have this conversation, I need to see you.”

“Well, actually, you _can_ see me, I just can’t see you,” Q replies, though he doesn’t resist as James fingers trace to the back of the blindfold.

“Your ability to pick nits is back, I see. You must be recovering. But if we’re going to have a serious conversation as equals, I need your eyes, love. There we are.”

Q squints against the dim light vaguely surprised to be in James’ flat and not a room in the club. The illusion had felt so real for a while. James smiles softly, rubbing a thumb along Q’s brow, smoothing the lines there.

“How are you?” James asks earnestly.

“Perfect,” Q answers without hesitation. “Strangely floaty… like the floatiness of being buzzed but with a really clear mind. And sore — it’s fortunate I’m not working for a few days, because I doubt I’ll be walking normally for a bit and _then_ wouldn’t the rumors fly? But perfect.” He glances around the very familiar sitting room, so normal and comfortable and not at all like a sex club. “Though to be honest, I’m having a bit of trouble believing it really happened.”

“Oh it happened,” James says with a smirk, brushing his fingers across a crop welt in Q’s inner thigh, making him startle.

“ _Oh_. Oh, look at that,” Q says, seeing the raised pink welt for the first time.

James huffs a laugh. “I have an ointment that I’m meant to apply after I bathe you. The woman in the shop was rather adamant about aftercare. She might not let me buy any new toys if I don’t report that I took proper care of you. She was a bit hesitant when I told her neither of us had done this and I was surprising you.”

“It was a good surprise. A surprising surprise. Obviously. Sorry...perhaps my mind isn’t that clear after all.”

“So floaty, and a bit scrambled, rather talkative with wandering hands, and sore,” James summarizes.

“And grateful,” Q adds, sliding forward to kiss James. He tastes divine, and this is another thing he missed. It was definitely worth it — not being able to touch or kiss James in exchange for such an intense experience — but now he finds himself needing to make up for lost time in this as well. James wraps his arms around Q’s back and holds him close, and though the kiss is clearly not leading to anything sexual, it feels intensely intimate. When the kiss finally breaks, Q holds his brow against James’, eyes closed, breathing the scent of him. “I’m not sure how long I would have taken to ask if we could try this… I may have _never_ worked up the nerve. I’m glad you can read me so well.”

“Hmmm. Spy,” James reminds him.

“It _can_ be annoying, but it definitely worked to my advantage this time. It was… I’m not sure how to describe it. I feel... refreshed. I don’t get to turn my mind off very often.”

“Well,” James considers, running his hands along Q’s spine and up into his curls. “That’s reason enough to do this again, if you’re interested.”

“Oh yes,” Q assures.

“So then… you would say that our little experiment was…”

“A rousing success.” Very rousing.

James seems to breathe a bit easier.

“Did you… I mean, was it something you’d like to try again?” Q asks.

“Love. I’m not sure I’ve _ever_ seen you so utterly abandoned. So completely out of your own head. So fucking, _gorgeously_ wanton. It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and it was _intensely_ gratifying to know _I_ get to do that to you. So yes. Yes, I’d absolutely like to do it again. That said, I like it when we’re like this, too,” he says, nuzzling against Q’s face and kissing his temple. “I would never want _that_ dynamic to replace this one. Just like this one can’t upset the dynamic when we’re working, and I’m taking my orders from you.”

Q snorts. “If only.”

“Fine,” James concedes, smiling. “When you’re issuing the orders and I’m taking them under advisement.”

“Better,” Q says with a kiss, threading his fingers through James’ short hair. “Would you… would you consider taking me to a real club?” Because as fun as tonight was, he’s still curious.

“If that’s what you want. Though I have to say, I wasn’t at all impressed with the suspension system they used.”

“Really?” Q asks, leaning back to look into James’ face. “I found it rather… intriguing.”

James’ gaze goes a bit wicked. “Well, yes. I’d love to have you in that position. But that’s all it was capable of."  He leans in suggestively, murmuring in Q's ear. "What if I wanted to fuck your mouth first? What if I wanted to tip you back, or forward, so I could tease you one way or another?  I’d be buggered.  Well, _you’d_ be buggered, but that’d be all.  Seems like an awful waste of opportunity.” James kisses Q’s temple and whispers, “With your engineering prowess, I imagine you could invent some device such that with the push of a remote button I could have you in whatever position I wanted.”

Q stills, mind suddenly racing. “I would need a double pulley system— no! _Triple_ pulley system! And mini track motors... yes. I can see it perfectly. Oh! Oh, _you’d_ have a marvelous time with it.”

James chuckles, pulling Q closer and nuzzling his neck. “I can see you’ll be embarking on an entirely new line of patents.”

Oh god, it’s _true._ Q already has three distinct designs in mind.

“We’re going to have to come up with a proper cheesy porn name for your wares,” James continues. “‘Ties That Bind’ perhaps.”

“‘Ties That Bond’, more like,” Q quips, drawing a perfect, hearty laugh from James.

“Well, _I_ like it, but I’m not sure how marketable it is. Or if M would much appreciate the pun.”

“M can _never_ know,” Q asserts firmly.

“Agreed,” James murmurs, pulling Q close again and rubbing a finger along Q’s spine as if he were a cat that needed soothing. It works remarkably well. “This is between you and me, occasionally Alec, and whatever hoard of strange men you allow me to show you off to.”

Q’s cock offers a feeble twitch, and he buries his face in in the crook of James’ neck.

“Oh, the vigor of youth,” James laughs. When Q groans he adds, “You aren’t seriously embarrassed by your reactions _now_ are you?”

“A bit?” Q mumbles into James’ neck.

“Love, look at me.” Q sits up and meets James’ gaze. He can feel his blush spread, and it _does_ seem a bit late to be shy. James cups his face and looks achingly fond. “I love you, and I plan to have sex with you for a very, _very_ long time. And the fact that sex will be highly varied… that so many types of sex appeal to you, just makes me look all the more forward to it. Don’t ever be embarrassed by what you want. I always want you to come to me with whatever ideas enter that brilliant, mad, fascinating, increasingly kinky mind of yours.”

Q huffs a laugh and nods, embarrassment gone. “I should get my tablet with the drafting program, before I forget these ideas.”

“In the morning, love. Bath now. And ointment, or we’ll never get new toys—”

“Oh god, the _toy!_ I very much liked the toy.”

James smirks. “And then tomorrow, after a good breakfast and some tea, you can show me your designs for how to tie you up properly next time. And then if you’re up for it, perhaps we can go shopping. There were entire aisles of toys to choose from, and I think you should select our next purchases.”

Q shivers, both at the idea and the growing cold of the air on his skin. He leans against James broad, warm chest. “Sounds wonderful, assuming I’m walking normally by then.”

“If you aren’t, I’ll wait on you hand and foot until you’re sufficiently recovered. But I hope we’ll be able to go. I do think you’ll find it intriguing.”

Q’s sure he’s right. And he rather loves the idea of going together. “I suppose this is just one more way our lives will never be boring.”

James’ arms tighten around him. “I could never ask for more in a partner: deadly, sexy, sweet, adventurous. I’m a very lucky man.”

“I’m even luckier,” Q counters. “I’m in love with a man who is all that, sees all that in me, _and_ can carry me to his oversized bath so I don’t have to try to walk after he’s fucked me so _very_ thoroughly.”

With a hearty laugh, James does just that.


End file.
